


Play on

by SheThorOnCrack



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Smut, warning for later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 04:03:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3881566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheThorOnCrack/pseuds/SheThorOnCrack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint has always loved wide, open spaces. It was the only interest that he and Pietro shared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

Surprisingly, Clint kinda missed the avengers tower. Or maybe it was the heights he missed, the fantastic view he got from his bedroom on the forty-ninth floor. He had fallen victim to numerous bird puns shot in his direction, specifically by Tony, but Clint wasn't gonna deny that he felt a sense of freedom in being up high, hundreds of feet above the population, surrounded by sky and silence.

That was the life.

Laura understood him, God bless her. She had allowed him to drag the few possessions they had between the two of them out into the country to start a farm, and eventually a family.

But now they were halfway underground, and Clint was going halfway crazy.

The other Avengers could tell by the way Clint paced back and forth in dining room after a battle, or by the incessant tapping of his fingers that got him more than a few glares from Natasha while they watched Toby and Thor spar. (Well, it was really just Tony trying to tackle Thor while the god just guffawed and pinned Tony to the ground single-handedly, Tony cursing all the while.) 

Natasha talked to him about his claustrophobia later, when the lights where out all over the building (except for Tony's lab, where he was most likely trying to build something big and dangerous, despite the fact that one of his big, dangerous science experiments just tried to murder the entire human race) and silence had settled pleasantly over everything like a warm blanket.

"You need to get out of here, just for a little bit. You're going crazy, Clint." Anyone but Nat would think he was ridiculous for feeling cramped and cooped up in a huge place like HQ. However, Natasha had been his friend long enough to know every detail of his thoughts and emotions just from his current habits and facial expressions. 

Wanda may have been the one who could get inside people heads, but as long as Nat was around she wouldn't have to try Clint's.

He didn't leave, of course. There was too much ruckus in the world, too many people trying to hurt other people, too may Hydra goons looking for trouble. Hell, if he did leave, to visit his family or take a trip to Tahiti(Coulson says it's a magical place) or wherever, he'd probably get called right back into action anyhow, because there was always something getting in the way of the quiet that he used to be such good friends with.

Clint thinks that's why he and Pietro had clashed so badly. Clint could take things slow, as in, he was actually physically capable, but he didn't think Pietro could even lie down without maybe vibrating a little bit, because there was just so much motion that was always in him, pulsating like a heartbeat.

That's why it was unsettling to see the boy lying so still, after he had done the unthinkable and had taken a bullet for him. They didn't have a funeral, because SHIELD wasn't into remembering the dead in any way but with your memories, and Clint could see how that was a little more efficient, but Clint had admittedly uttered a word or two to whatever God was out there in favor of the speedster that had managed to push every button Clint had in the few days Clint had known him alive. 

Wanda didn't blame him. "How could I?" She had asked. "I would have done the same thing. This only shows that my brother was brave, not that you are a coward." 

She was right, but guilt was like a bad penny, it just kept coming back, especially when he least expected it. 

 

Then The Occurrence happened, and Clint couldn't say it ebbed away that bad penny feeling even a little bit.

 

If anything, it made it worse.

 

When Clint entered the lobby the morning of The Occurrence, it was chock full of unwanted activity. Clint saw Hill and Fury having what appeared to be a very deep and serious discussion. Maria's eyebrows were drawn together over her pretty blue eyes, and she looked more anxious than usual, if that was even possible. Clint wasn't facing Fury, and here couldn't hear the conversation, of course, but he assumed that Fury had a similar expression.

In the corner of the room Steve was talking intensely with Wanda, or more like he was talking at her. Both his hands were resting gently on her shoulders, not enough to hurt her(Steve would never hurt a woman, even if she was easily the most physically powerful person on the team aside from the Hulk) but enough to tell her something. But what was he saying? Steve had a stern, fatherly look on his face, the kind of look the Clint gave his daughter when she broke her mothers vase. Wanda had her hands clasped in front of her chest, like she was praying. Or pleading. 

Clint pushed his way through the crowd and stepped in. "What's going on here? Did Tony blow up the girls bathroom again, or what?" It was a half-hearted attempt at a funny, but Wanda just huffed and cast her eyes down. Steve let go of her shoulders and turned to Clint.

"There's been a...disruptance in the medical ward." That was all he said.

"Disruptance like what? Tony didn't really blow up the-"

"No, Tony didn't do anything, for once. This is all SHIELD. They've made a breakthrough." The words he was saying meant good news, but Caps face was grim.

"Y'know, nowadays people think medical breakthroughs are miracles. I mean, I don't know exactly how people did things in the forties but-"

"Not this kind of breakthrough. You might wanna come with me." Steve left swiftly through the glass exit doors, and Clint hesitantly followed, afraid of what Steve might show him. Wanda followed him out.

 

The infirmary is in just as much uproar as the lobby, if not more so, and Steve takes them to a cookie cutter room that was so clean that Clint could smell the sterilization. Bruce was there, leaning over a body that Clint couldn't see. Tony was close by, fiddling with some Star Trek-esque piece of machinery. 

The second Bruce saw Steve with Clint and Wanda standing behind him like two scared teenagers, his brows furrowed and he pinched his forehead. "Rumors, Steve. They mean nothing. You didn't have to call them down here."

Steve stepped forward defensively. "Dr. Banner, as much as I trust and respect you, I know damn well that the lower part of this building isn't in chaos for nothing. "

"Language," Tony said as he poked another piece of equipment.

Steve didn't move. "What's going on?" Bruce sighed.

"We're all aware of the certain ... whisperings that have been said regarding Coulsons recovery." 

"Tahiti." Clint said.

Bruce shook his head. "No, not Tahiti. They brainwashed him, and injected him with matter from the Chituari."

Well, that sure as hell was news to Clint. He sort of figured they were playing a falsehood on that one, though(his profession had made him very good at sniffing out bullshit). No one gets stabbed through the heart and survives, not even someone like Coulson. 

"So, what, they think that's happening again with this guy...or girl?" Don't you think SHEILD wouldn't make that same mistake twice?" Clint moved closer toward the table that the body lay on, not even sure why he wanted to get a closer look, but just feeling like he needed to. 

Bruce put up a hand. It was a tiny gesture, barely threatening if at all, but the movement held weight, the weight of who was behind that small gesture. "Believe me, that isn't going to happen again. But it seems that not everyone else in this building knows that, hence the flood of people downstairs."

Steve sucked in a breath. "We So what is it then, huh? Rumors don't start for nothing."

"We found a way to shock him into reality. After all, he isn't dead, just..."

"Sleeping." Tony cut in. "Like a princess. No need for SHIELD to lose their shit." 

"Right. But why is it such a big deal? Just shock him and be done with it. Happens in regular hospitals all the time."

"I'm sure regular hospitals don't usually see patients quite like this." On the word quite, Bruce peeled back the sheet covering the body, revealing a mop of silver hair and still-open blue eyes that were glassy like a dolls. Behind him Clint heard Wanda make a choked-off sound, and he felt his heart break a little. He knew it was the first time in several months that she had seen his dead-looking face, and he figured it must be hard to see her brother like this.

 

"Tony and I were having difficulty finding something that would actually generate enough electricity to wake him. He just absorbs everything, even when he's sleeping. It's fascinating."

"And annoying." Tony added. He put down the wrench he was holding and picked up a dial with multiple buttons and several flashing lights. "Ready when you are, big guy." 

"3...2...1!" Tony turned the dial to the maximum level, then shielded his eyes from the blinding light that filled the room. Clint was knocked backward from the force of the blow. He landed on his ass with a painful cracking sound that was sure to hurt later, but right now he couldn't find it in himself to care. 

As the light faded back to regular hospital-room brightness, a figure rose up from the bed, and it looked almost angelic, although Clint knew that Pietro Maximoff was anything but. The cheeky bastard ran a hand through his white hair and grinned.

 

"I guess I walked it off, Cap." 

 

Wanda sobbed and ran to her brother.


	2. Story

"There are twenty two, maybe twenty three, at least on the first level. We're sending Natasha in after you."

"Roger that." Clint said. He was perched in his signature hawk position on the edge of the building, acutely aware of how little arrows he had left. But there were only twenty three of these bad boys right? What could go wrong?

Clint stooped down low and swung into a window on the top level, a few glass shards piercing his bare arms, but most of it shattering and falling like rain on the dingy carpet.

The aliens were part of an army created by notorious Loki-wannabe, the Red Whirlwind(Right? Clint swears, his daughter could come up with a villain name more intimidating than that, or at least something he could respect). They weren't particularly large or threatening, and their offensive strategy mainly included balling their humanoid hands into fists and clubbing slowly enough that it was completely pointless for them to even try. Clint dodged the creatures blows so easily it was ridiculous and knocked arrow after arrow, each one hitting the aliens in the forehead(or where Clint assumed the forehead was. They were humanoid enough for Clint to get the basic picture of where all the internal organs were and fire there, but not so much as to pass as a tourist or a bystander of the action) with a dull thunking sound. 

After the first wave of space-zombies was reduced to a pile of reddish flesh, slightly steaming in the cool November air, Clint grinned and reached for another arrow, but his fingers groped at empty air. He twisted his arm backwards, even though he knew he was completely fucked, just to see if maybe in the vast black space of his quiver there was at least one goddamn arrow, just one, but there wasn't one.

Clint cursed as one of the aliens came onto him, it's empty, soulless eyes lolling around in its head, and it brought its fist up in the blink of an eye and struck him hard across the face. 

'Well damn, maybe these things are stronger than we think,' he thought as he rubbed his arm awkwardly, at the same time reaching down to where his knife was strapped to his calf. He hardly ever used it, except for the few occasions when it was necessary due to being in a position where he can't reach his arrows or, ahem, when he runs out of them. This was one of those times.

Clint drew his knife faster than death and slashed horizontally through the row of aliens in front of him, before kicking another into the opposite wall while stabbing one in the torso. Clint went one like this, annihilating one of Whirlwinds creations after the other, and sure, Clint was fast, but the everything that the Red Whirlwinds aliens lacked i.e. speed, agility, brains, y'know, the important stuff, they made up for in sheer amount. The second Clint killed one, another one just like it replaced it. It was like he was dealing with Hydra. He was going to have a serious discussion with Steve about what the number twenty three actually was. 

His arm was starting to ach, and they were coming in on all sides now. "Hey Steve, how about some backup?" He commed in.

"Way ahead of you, Barton," said a voice next to him, and Natasha exploded into action, shooting down buggers like a fiery red volcano had just exploded. Watching her now, nailing the creatures right between the eyes, all Clint could think was that Bruce may have softened up her hard exterior during off-hours, but when work was being done, she was still as deadly as ever.

She bumped into him so that they were back-to-back, their standard fighting position, and the way they always wound up when they had ass to kick. Clint slashed throats and stabbed bellies whilst Nat fired round after round until all that was left was a lone surviver, struggling towards them. Nats bullet sunk deep into its skull and burst out the other end, along with some grey-green matter and a spray of yellow blood. 

"Next level," Nat said, moving to the door, and Clint grinned, because he had really missed this, fighting alongside his best friend without the thought of Ultron killing his family or Loki trying to mess with his head. He commed back into Steve.

"Top level clear, Captain. By the way, I'm not sure how they did things in the forties, but I'm pretty sure that was a hell of a lot more than twenty-three."

"Roger that. And I'm pretty sure you need to count your arrows next time, Clint."

"Ouch," Clint grinned. He followed Natasha down the stairs, picking off the straggling extraterrestrials that has managed to get away from the group. The second floor was worse than the first, if possible, so covered up that you couldn't walk in straight line without brushing a shoulder of one of them, if they didn't kill you first. 

"More backup, we need more backup!" Natasha shouted into her comm as she blasted brains across the room. Through the gore and the mindless alien garbling Clint heard Steves voice. "Hear you loud and clear. We're sending up the twins." As soon as the words were said the two were there, with Pietro dropping Wanda into battle like a war bird (he would know about those, considering his alias. Ha ha) and he himself zipping by so fast that the poor buggers stupid brains were probably melting. Wandas eyes glowed red and she raised her hands in a way that was almost regal before completely leveling the place, causing walls to collapse and the creatures to cry out in terror before being vaporized where they stood. The rest of them stood there awkwardly a smoldering piles of alien meat melted in place. Pietro patted her on the back. "Nice job, Wanda. I'm sure that did the trick." Wanda grinned.

"C'mon," Clint said, pushing them toward the next floor, but he saw that while Wanda had been destroying aliens, she took the stairs with them. They were trapped. Wanda stepped forward, as if to apologize, but Clint put a hand up. "It's cool. Rather be trapped temporarily than be fighting Whirlwinds disposable lackeys still." He turned his comm back on. "Thor? You there!"

"We will rejoice in the sounds of their dying screams! Feel the bite of Mjolnir, scum!"

"Hello to you too, Thor. We need a pick up. We're kinda trapped. The foundation of the building is a little shaky, too."

"Ah, the Scarlet Witch is a fierce warrior indeed! She will dine with kings and feast on the flesh of her enemies while others fall to their knees in her wake!" Clint couldn't see Wandas face from where he was standing, but he would be willing to bet money that it was red. 

"Uh, yeah, she's grateful for the compliment. But do you think you could find a way to get us off off the fifth floor? We-" Clints words were cut short by the horrendous cracking sound that filled the room. He dared to glance up, just for a second, and the ceiling shuddered feebly and caved in, collapsing around them.

Clint was pinned to the ground, or maybe he was pinned to someone else, because he pressed against something kind of squishy. The rubble covered his head and trapped his legs, and here he was again, completely trapped. He felt his breathing quickening.

"Wanda! Wanda, are you alright?" Pietro. He was lying directly on top of Pietro. King tried not too much into that. 

"I'm fine, brother! I just...I can't move my hands. They're stuck." Wandas voice sounded small and tinny through the stone and plaster that surrounded him. 

"Natasha? Are your hands free? " No reply. 

"I-I can only see her legs, but she appears to be unconscious, " said Wanda. 

"Can you comm Steve or Tony?"

"Already done."

'Great,' Clint thought. 'It ought to be another thirty minutes before someone sends a rescue team.' And he was stuck here with the intense choking sensation creeping up his neck, and he needed to get out, needed to get out now, but he couldn't move. 

Pietro wasn't helping either. His body was always in fast-forward, and the sound of his sledgehammer of a heart was making Clint more and more stressed by the minute. 

Clint feebly attempted to roll his arms out of the position they were in, pinned to his sides, but adrenaline makes people forget everything, including a possibly fractured forearm, and Clint hissed out a muddled curse. 

"You alright there, old man?" Pietro asked.

"Fine thanks. Just don't move," Clint said, ignoring the old man jibe. Pietro immediately went stock still, but it was like it was physically hurting hurting him. Only a dim light filtered through the cracks in the rubble, but it was enough to see Pietros flushed, pained looking face straining with effort. All that effort was apparently all for not, though, because after maybe ten minutes or so, the speedster began to squirm like a teenage girl. 

"I don't really think the whole still thing is working out so well for you,Speedy Gonzalez." 

Pietros eyes looked murderous. "Keep in mind that you were the one who ask me to do this, smartass. "

"Well, I didn't ask you to kill yourself!"

"It essentially does the same thing though!" Pietro said, his accent stretching the word 'it' into 'eet'. "It's almost as if I have to be free and moving. I don't do well in inclosed spaces. I feel like I'm going to..."

"Suffocate?" Clint supplied.

"Yes." Pietro agreed numbly. Clint was momentarily shocked that they felt the same way, but he guessed he should have just assumed. A guy like Pietro wouldn't want to stay cooped up all the time, would he? He needed big open fields, rabbits to chase, just like Clint needed birds(or people) to shoot and a family to love him.

"I know what you mean." Clint said, mostly to himself. Pietro snorted.

"I doubt you do. It's different with me, not like normal human claustrophobia. You feel nervous, but see, I need open spaces like I need air. I cannot breathe."

"Pretty sure I do know how you feel, grey. I've felt that same way for a while now so-"  
Pietro shook his head.

"It's different. Trust me."

Clint was getting annoyed. Here he was, trying to relate to this boy through tragic personal fear, and he was pushing him away! Clint shifted on his elbows, and Pietro grunted. 

"Move over, will you?"

Clint laughed. Over where? It's not like he could roll to the side or anything. If Quicksilver was uncomfortable, he would just have to live with it. Pietro moved underneath him in an attempt to get Clint off, but that sure as hell wasn't gonna work in his position.

Pietro couldn't move his arms either, so his solution was to simply thrust his torso up and headbutt Clint, causing him to wince. Clint shoved back as best as he could, just as any man would, but it made things even more awkward than before.

Clints face was practically buried in the side of Pietros neck, and he smelled like spring mint and gunpowder. Clint decided it was a nice smell, but he was looking for trouble at the moment, and commenting on his opponents pleasant aroma wasn't exactly the most manly way to go down.

Clint shook his leg as loose as he possibly could, then brought it up, hoping to knee Pietro in the groin and get this whole matter over with. Instead, he brought his leg up between the boys legs and brushed against something hard and-

"Holy shit, are you getting off on this?"

He could still see Pietros face, and it was flushed in a different way now, and Oh my God, Clint did not sign up for this, he did not sign up for this.

"Just ignore it. It'll go down." Pietro looked like he wanted to sink into the floor and die. Clint kinda felt the same way.

He should have just listened to Pietro then and there and never brought up the subject again. He should have thought about Laura-Christ, Laura! and his three kids at home, but it was like his brain had melted our his ear and had been replaced with a new one that was full of realization because holy shit, he had felt this way all along hadn't he?

It made sense how Clint could care so much about what some dumb kid said, or how Clint could feel so overwhelmingly...relieved, and maybe even happy when the kid was brought back to life.

And sure, he had taken more than a few bullets for Clint. 

But it was so much more than that, and Clint kinda wished that he wasn't just realizing that now because one of them got a boner but hey, it's a crazy world we live in.

So maybe that's why Clint responded to the boys hurried excuse with, "Not soon enough. Let me take care of it," before sliding his leg right up against Pietros swollen cock. 

Pietro grunted and looked away, keeping his eyes to the sides of their cage of debris, but Clint rasped out "Look at me," and Pietro complied. 

Clint watched the boys face as he slowly moved his knee back and forth against the boys erection, agonizing every second for him. He slid it directly under his balls and pressed lightly right there, and Pietro honest to God groaned, and that alone was making Clint himself harden in his suit.

He pressed his hips flush against Pietros and ground their cocks together mercilessly, feeling his pants getting damper and damper. He rolled his hips faster and faster, and Pietro weakly tried to keep up, but for once he was so overwhelmed he began to fall behind. He wished he could touch him, if he could get one, quick hand around the boys member he could have him falling apart, but he would have to settle for this frantic, dirty frontage right now. 

Clint was bucking wildly against Pietros cock, grunting all the while, before he finally heard a low cry from the boy and felt a warm wetness that was not his own spreading into the material of his pants. Clint finished seconds later, coming I his pants like he was in the eighth grade again. 

He placed a chaste kiss on Pietros lips before resting his head on his shoulder. He would worry about this tomorrow, when he wasn't so sex-dazed and things actually made sense. 

"Let's hope Wanda didn't hear that."

"Even if I couldn't hear your extremely loud sex noises, I can still read minds, stupid," Wandas voice sounded from across the wall of debris. Clint laughed and decided he didn't care.


	3. Resolution

Tomorrow came too soon for Clint.

He was locked away, hiding in the dark shadows of his room, staring at the wall and trying to think of anything, anything else, while at the same time needing to think about rutting up against his much, much younger comrade, and deciding how the hell he was going to deal with that. 

He hadn't spoken to anyone aside from things like, "Pass the salt," and "Goddamnit, Tony, you can't blow up the state of Georgia," which was basically just passing phrases that everyone in this building used. He hadn't even spoken to Natasha, or Laura-God, Laura. How the hell was he going to explain this to her?

Clint had met Laura when he was thirty-six, and as far as he remembered, she was the only person he had ever been in love with(aside from the passing crush he got on Nat, but let's face it-he knew it wasn't gonna happen). He never needed any reason to cheat, because what idiot would ever want to cheat with someone like her?

Yet here he was, guilt clawing at its stomach like a caged lion. These feelings were boiling inside of her, and he knew he should just confess to her, she was kind, she would forgive him, but Clint knew he couldn't push it aside and say, "It meant nothing," because of all the lies that Clint has ever told considering his line of work, that would would be the biggest one by far because it did mean something.

Clint was in love with a fucking kid, and if he had to keep it tucked away inside where it was hidden from view any longer, he was going to punch a goddamn wall.

 

As for Pietro himself, well, obviously things have been more than a little awkward with him and his twin. Pietro will walk into a room only to find Clint there and immediately blush and make some ridiculous excuse and speed out of the room, with Wanda sipping her bubble tea as her eyes flickered wildly between the two of them, hearing their words clearly but hearing their thoughts even louder. 

This continued on to the point where Clint walked into the dining room and Pietro stood up, informed everyone that he had to go walk his goldfish, and darted away. Wanda had signed and rested her head on the table, like she couldn't believe how stupid everyone was. The rest of the Avengers in the room didn't react, but later Natasha asked to spar with him.

Sparring with a regular person meant basically practicing your techniques on each other and trying to improve. Sparring between Natasha and Clint was essentially actual sparring for five minutes, then spreading out on the gym floor and talking, whether they talk about politics, or gossip about Intern Rachel's new hair, or make deep, philosophical revelations with each other, sparring sessions usually meant heart-to-heart slumber party talk, like they were stupid teenage girls rather than world-class deadly assassins. 

Clint found that he rather enjoyed it, and surprisingly, he thinks Natasha does, too.

"What are you gonna do about Pietro?" Natasha asks, sweaty and red-faced from their previous match. He doesn't play dumb, because that never really works on her.

"I'm gonna tell Laura. I have to." Nat side glances at him.

"What about Pietro himself? He acts like your two repelling ends of a magnet."

"As far as I'm concerned, that's his problem. Anyway, it can't last forever. Sooner or later Cap will send us on a mission together and Pietro will have to stop acting like a little kid for one second so he can be an Avenger and all will be well."

"You could...but." She simply stopped there. Her words didn't trail off, and she pointedly looked at him, expecting him to finish.

Clint sighed. "That would be a chicken-shit thing to do, and I'm more of a man than that."

"Bingo," Nat said, and she turned and walked out the door, like all that needed to be said was said and nothing else mattered. Clint supposed that was true.

 

The air was so much cleaner here, the grass greener, the birds were fairy tale perfect, and it was so, so open, and the world felt endless. 

He had returned to his farm for the week, and baby Nate was skittering across the front porch on his wobbly baby feet, and Clint wished he could stay like that forever, a perfect little baby that never learned about death or sadness or anything terrible.

Laura tiptoed softly to sit next to him on the bench. "They both fell asleep watching the movie, so I put them to bed. What are you doing?"

"Reflecting," Clint said, and he sounds like a stereotypical big budget action film hero, with his mysterious, melancholy words, because he figures that that at least was the truth, and he should say least one fucking thing to his wife that wasn't a lie.

"Oh, really? On what?" Laura voice sounds kind and sleepy, and it's those four words that break him. The truth comes pouring out of him, in wave after wave, and he tells her how Pietro was saved, and how they both got trapped, and how they had made a mistake, except maybe it wasn't a mistake, and maybe, maybe, he had felt this way the whole time? And now the team is in ruins because they're already missing Bruce and now Pietro may as well be gone with the help he is, and he doesn't know what to do, but please forgive him, please?

Laura chuckled, chuckled, damnit, and said," Well Clint, from the way you talk about him, I'd be a little nervous someone was taking my place if we didn't already have three kids."

Clint can't believe how lightly she's responding, so he wraps his hands around hers and says," It's not like he's taking your place, because no one ever could. It's more like....he has a new spot in my head."

"It sounds like you may be polyamorous then," Laura says bluntly.

"And...you're okay with that?"

"Clint, the only thing I'm not okay with us that you waited so long to tell me. I'm your wife, okay? You can tell me anything."

Clint kissed her lightly on the lips and smiled because damn, he loved her.

 

Clint knocks three times on Pietros door. When the silver-haired speedster doesn't answer after three and a half minutes, Clint kicks the door in, wood splintering outwards into the room. Pietro is lying on his bed in only his boxers, and Clint has to take a minute to collect himself because he honesty wasn't expecting that, and approaches him.

"Listen, punk. I get that we practically had sex in a pile of rubble-"

"There's no practically about it."

"Great! Good to know your sense of humor is back! Now can you please act like an adult around me so that the team can function properly? I've had a tough time dealing with this too, y'know, but I manage to keep it to myself." Clint is vaguely aware that with each word he says, he takes a small step foreward. He feels it distantly when his knees hit the mattress, but as most fathers do, he got caught up in a lecture. 

 

" Please, you think your keeping this to yourself? Everytime I go anywhere you just sit there and stare at me. We didn't even have to tell the team;we had all the signs of ex-lovers." Pietro spat at him.

 

Clint felt heat rising in his cheeks. He hadn't known he'd been staring openly at him. If this was the case, it was really no wonder why the kid avoided him like the plague. "Is that what we are, kid? Ex-lovers?"

Pietro grimaced. "You have a wife. And three kids. Hell, you even named one of them after me. It's not like anything could ever happen anyway."

"Do you want anything to happen?" Clint asked. He had no idea what he was doing, flirting with a kid half his age, but his blood felt like it was on fire, and it was slowing roasting away the flesh from his bones. "C'mere," he said, twining his fingers into the front of Pietros shirt, and the other boy complied.

 

Pietros lips were searing hot on Clints, and if Clint thought the kid was a little fast before, it was nothing compared to the way that Pietros hands were moving all over him, clutching at his back, running up and down his sides, and occasionally reaching down to, God, grab Clints ass. 

Clint shoved Pietro as gently as possible down on the mattress, but it's hard when you're ready to fuck the brains of out the person who you're trying to be gentle with. Pietro was eager too, though, and he flashed Clint a grin that was positively filthy.

Clints tongue eventually found Pietros, and that made the kid fucking ecstatic, and he buried his fingers in Clints short blonde hair and groaned, like this was a cheap pornograghic film, but then Pietro grabbed Clints hips roughly and ground their clothed erections together, and Clints brain lit up like a Christmas tree at that, but holy shit, if he didn't take at least a second to catch a breath, he was gonna explode.

"Whoa, whoa there buddy," Clint said, gingerly untangling Pietros fingers from his scalp. Pietros eyes were wide with awe, and dazed, and wild as anything. His cheeks were flushed and his lips were swollen, and if that face wasn't the complete personification of all things sex, Clint didn't know what was. "Let's take this slow, okay? We got all afternoon."

"I don't like slow." The kid is pouting, pouting for Christs sake, and Clint thinks he looks adorable, of course, but feels a pang at how young it makes him look. Clint wraps his fingers around Pietros wrists and holds him down. Pietro struggles, just a little, but he and Clint both knew he didn't want to escape, not really.

Clints lips brushed lightly against the other boys, then moved downwards, pressing tender, loving kisses along Pietros jawline, nibbling right under his ear, which made Pietro shudder, and goosebumps rose to the surface of his skin. 

Clints hands were still holding Pietros wrists down, but he nosed affectionately at the smooth expanse of skin on silver-haired boys chest, traced lazy circles around Pietros left nipple, which made him arch and struggle at Clints restraints. Clint chuckled warmly against his skin and dug his nose into Pietros hipbone. He paused.

"I'm about to take your boxers off. Is that okay?" Pietro looked like human words didn't make any sense anymore, but he nodded numbly.

The archers fingers didn't hesitate to yank the boys underwear off and toss it on the floor, his own shirt, pants and underwear following. Pietro was so damn hard, it looked painful just to look at. His cock stood at a flushed red attention, with the tip turning a borderline purplish color. Clint trailed a finger over the slit, and Pietro screamed, tears beading at the corners of his eyes. 

"Holy shit Clint, just fuck me!" Clint rested a reassuring hand on Pietros knee. 

"Yeah, it's okay. I'm gonna fuck you," he said, then slipped a finger inside the younger man. Pietro squirmed with discomfort, but soon grew accustomed to it. Clint added a second, and pushed it in just a little more. Pietro clutched at the sheets frantically, bucking his hips up. Clints fingers were up to the second knuckle now, and he slowly curled then inside. Pietro made an ungodly sound, something between a whimper and a moan, and Clint moved his fingers around some more, looking for his prostate. 

He located the nub quickly and rubbed it slightly, then quickened the pace. Profanities and clippings of Sovakian phrases poured out of Pietro, along with half-hearted encouragement and pleading. "Holy fucking shit hell son of bitch, Clint, you'd better press harder, please, oh please..."

 

He didn't have to ask twice. Clint drilled his fingers against his prostate mercilessly, until Pietro began clawing at his back, leaving fiery red markings.

"You wanna finish this the right way?" Clint asked and he ground his dick against the cleft of Pietros ass so he could get the feel of what he meant. 

"Oh..oh,shit yes! Just do it...!" 

Clint entered in using just the tip, and Pietro hung onto him for dear life. He slowly moved in another inch, and his grip tightened. Pietro made a muffled sound against Clints neck, and he though it sounded like a prayer. Clint finally pushed all the way in, then examined the other boys dazed, fucked out expression. His eyes are unfocused and he's rocking his hips back and forth, teying to find some friction against Clints stomach. 

He wraps a strong, bow-worn hand around Pietros stiff cock, not even moving it, just holding it there, but Pietros cries out all the same. Clint begins thrusting in and out of him, timing the rhythm of his hand to match, the other hand holding Pieros hips down onto the bed. 

Clint squeezes the head, running a sly finger once more over the slit, and Pietro cones spectacularly over both their chests, his dick still pressed between the two of them. Clint follows soon after, thrusting in and then sliding out, come pooling out onto the sheets. He curls around Pietro big-spoon style and wraps a protective arm around his waist before dozing off.

He dreams of farms and front porches and endless feilds as far as the eye could see.

 

Across the building, Wanda does some late evening sparring practice with Natasha.   
She is flung to the ground-again-before she feels something tingling in the back of her mind. "What's up?" Natasha asks, offering a hand. Wanda rolls her eyes. "Boys."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked! This is my first smut story ever. Please leave kudos and comment what you think :-)

**Author's Note:**

> I recently saw Age of Ultron and I fell in love with this pairing instantly! Feel free to comment and give kudos:-)


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